


Ugly Parts (Interspersed with Moments of Savage Brightness)

by AngeNoir



Category: The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: Character Study, Hate Sex, M/M, Miscommunication, Misunderstandings
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-12-08
Updated: 2013-12-08
Packaged: 2018-01-04 02:25:39
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,088
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1075436
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AngeNoir/pseuds/AngeNoir
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Tony has been fighting his whole life, against public perception, against his body, against those that would control him. It figured he'd have to fight for sex with Steve, too, that this would be as savage, but it was so much worse.</p>
<p>(Or so much better.)</p>
            </blockquote>





	Ugly Parts (Interspersed with Moments of Savage Brightness)

**Author's Note:**

  * For [littlehawkeye](https://archiveofourown.org/users/littlehawkeye/gifts).



> My [SteveTonyFest](http://stevetonyfest.tumblr.com/) gift for [babyhawkeye](http://babyhawkeye.tumblr.com/) (littlehawkeye here on Ao3). Hope you enjoy!

Tony was four years old when he cobbled together a circuit board. That’s what goes in the papers, of course, that and the picture of him dwarfed by Howard and by Obie, but no one mentioned the soldering burns on clumsy thick fingers still learning their ways around the delicacies of electronics. No one mentioned how he went twenty-eight hours without sleeping and Jarvis had to physically carry him to his room. No one mentioned how his brain wouldn’t stop whirling even when the room was dark and the covers were pulled up to his chin, and when Maria mentioned off-hand about “perhaps he should see someone, Howard, someone like a psychiatrist or some doctor, children are supposed to sleep sometime,” Howard had made it clear “Stark men didn’t whine to therapists about not being able to sleep, goddammit, Maria, if you coddle the boy he’ll never amount to anything.”

No one ever mentioned that part at all. 

* * *

 

This became characteristic; Tony’s life became a series of unmentioned ugly parts interspersed with moments of savage brightness. The media loved shining a spotlight on him whenever they could, so he learned to be savage all the time even if he couldn’t be bright, and the media labeled him as ‘confrontational’ – he called it nothing more complex than _you-want-something-to-look-at-well-I’ll-_ give _-you-something-to-look-at_. His life burned brighter, a meteor flashing across the sky, and he knew meteors fell, they crashed and burned and broke, that if you looked close at meteor it was nothing more than a rock, pitted and scarred, but that wasn’t now. Who cared about the future? Drugs and booze, fast cars and fast women and men, cameras flashing in public or in private, shirking responsibilities or upholding them – nothing changed. He took it all in stride. He laughed and smiled and charmed his way throughout his life, until he met people who wouldn’t laugh or smile back and who didn’t care about his charm.

He clawed his way out of that, and then clawed his way free from dying, and then clawed his tech out of other people’s hands. He fought and fought and fought until he wasn’t sure who he was fighting any more.

Over and over, he could hear the whispers, what people really thought about him.

_Iron man, yes. Tony Stark, not recommended._

_We’d only like to use you as a consultant._

_Take that off, and what are you?_

* * *

 When the Avengers formed up again, because of some incidence of some crazy scientist getting a hold of Banner’s notes and trying to recreate it with substandard materials (really, now, even Tony knew that substandard materials produced substandard results, at the least get funding enough to use the good stuff so your creation isn’t completely pathetic), Fury spent about ten whole minutes after the battle chewing them out about how if they were serious about this they better be ready to assemble at any goddamn moment. (Nine minutes and twenty-seven seconds, to be precise.)

Tony made the monumental mistake of opening his mouth. He knew, of course, that when he was sleep deprived and tired he said stupid shit that hit too close to home. He needed drinks in him before he could say anything, because it normally did inhibit him from saying anything too telling and what it didn’t prevent him from saying could be played off as drunken rambling. But no, he was still wrapped up in the armor that was dented around his ribs and making it difficult to breathe in, he could taste copper on his tongue and the dull throb against his sternum, which meant that hit to his chest had been enough to knock the metal casing about. Just because the arc reactor was removed didn’t mean he had it easy – that hole in his chest needed to be filled with something and when that something got hit by those substandard-serum-enhanced animals, well. Blood on his tongue, ache in his chest, a ringing head and crawling itchiness in the back of his mind as his body simultaneously tried to and fought sleep. Shortened breath.

So he said something completely offhand, something along the lines of “Look none of this applies to me because I have a tower right here and I was on site literally forty-eight seconds after the call, which is faster than everyone here, so I think I’m gonna head out.”

And Fury said something along the lines of “Good idea, Stark – you have five hours to pack.”

It took Tony a bit to understand what Fury was implying, took everyone else as long as Tony because the minute he figured out he was snarling at Fury. “I didn’t fucking offer anyone a place to stay. SHIELD can’t lease a couple of apartments in Midtown? You that hard up for cash?”

“Sir, I don’t think living in Stark Tower is good for the team—” Natasha began, which had Tony whirling on her.

“I don’t think you’re in any position to turn up your nose at closer living when you and your boyfriend there took the longest to get on the scene, and that includes _Thor_.”

Thor looked mildly affronted, and Clint folded his arms and glared. Not a big talker, Clint.

“So you _do_ suggest living in your tower?” Steve asked dryly, skeptically.

Tony glared at the lot of them, at Fury, and threw his hands up in the air – biting back a wince when something sharp (an edge of the armor’s plates, maybe, crunched in? He’d have to check that) dug into his upper side at the movement. “Fuck it all. Yes. Fine. You don’t bother me and I won’t bother you. Except you, Brucie, babe, you can bother me all you want. I’d also suggest not bringing anyone up to your rooms. Wouldn’t want them to activate the security system.”

And that was how the Avengers come to live in Stark (Avenger) Tower. 

* * *

 

In retrospect, Tony knew that he’d thought it was actually a good, tactical idea. Living in the same area should improve interpersonal relationships. He _had_ built rooms for each of them, not too grandiose but definitely larger than the standard suite on a penthouse floor. There was a communal kitchen and a gym. He’d had to replace the punching bag a few times, but he finally designed one that could withstand Steve, or Steve’s attempts at teaching Thor a fighting style beyond swinging a hammer. He built a home, he’d thought.

Now, though, sitting in the communal living room in front of the television, trying to ignore Steve’s disapproving lecture about getting trashed at a fundraiser for rebuilding New York City, he wondered what the hell he’d been thinking, putting himself in close quarters with Captain America. Putting himself in close quarters with _anyone_ , when he knew what his life was, what it looked like up close, what he was like. Maybe he’d wanted something more stable, something to hold on to when the whole world was shifting faster than Tony could keep up. Maybe he wanted to feel safe from aliens – who the hell knew? All Tony knew was that it was currently Not Working Out. Capital letters necessary for emphasis.

“Buzz off, Cap, you’re not helping at all. Don’t tell me your boys didn’t get drunk after battle.”

“Getting drunk _after_ the fundraiser is fine – do whatever the hell you want on your own time, Stark, no one cares.”

Tony bared his teeth at Steve. “I’ve been handling fundraisers and the moneyed elite since I was _four fucking years old_ and you’re gonna tell me you can do it better? You hate it, hate standing there, and it fucking _shows_. You think anyone’s going to give money to someone who obviously hates standing with them?”

“Look, we’re all trying to make the best of a bad situation, but you’re making it ten times harder than you have to by knocking back glass after glass. No one wants to put their confidence in someone like that.”

“Someone like _me_ , you mean,” Tony said, and now he was on his feet, the Advil and hangover headache and laptop forgotten as he stepped forward into Steve’s space.

Steve made a face. “Why do I even try with you?” he growled. “It’s not like you’ll listen.”

“You do nothing but tell me how to live my life and frankly, Steve, if I needed a nanny I can afford one—”

“Is throwing the fact that you’re rich around supposed to make me care?” Steve snapped.

“I dunno, Steve, is acting like a jackass a requirement for trying to play at being leader?” Tony snarled.

Tony – didn’t know how it happened. He honestly did _not_. But suddenly they weren’t so much nose to nose as lips to lips, Steve violent in his kiss, teeth cutting into Tony’s lips, and Tony didn’t much like the fact that he had to go up on his toes (yes, his shoes had lifts, no, he wasn’t short he was the perfect size, everyone else was just unnaturally tall) and so bit back. Steve tasted of sleep, of musk and irritation and anger and lust. He clearly didn’t know how to kiss very well, and Tony grabbed the back of Steve’s neck, fingers fisted in Steve’s short hair, and pulled him further down, his other hand against Steve’s waist.

The kiss didn’t get – didn’t get _less_ violent, not really, but it certainly smoothed out some. They pushed and pulled at one another, they fought for dominance, they panted as hands slid beneath cloth and searched out flesh, and then Tony _pulled_.

Steve fell on top of him, and they fell onto the couch, Steve straddling Tony’s thighs. Broken apart like that, Steve seemed to be having second thoughts, seemed to be pausing, and that was the last thing Tony wanted. They’d been butting heads and beating chests and acting like idiots around this unresolved tension for so long now that Tony was happy it was finally out in the open, wasn’t going to let Steve retreat from this. After all, it had been _Steve_ that initiated the first kiss.

So he stuck his hands down Steve’s pants.

Steve let out a stuttered cry, eyes fluttering shut, and Tony watched with interest as Steve bucked into Tony’s hand. No fighting there. Steve wasn’t look ashamed – okay, no, he was looking kinda ashamed, but he wasn’t looking _reluctant_ , and that was key. Tony wasn’t about to make someone sleep with him that didn’t want to, and Steve obviously wanted to.

But. Making sure. Making it _clear_.

“You wanna back out of this,” he growled, and his voice was low, raspy, thick with desire, “you tell me right now. We go our separate ways. But if you wanna finish this…” He flexed his fingers and Steve gasped.

After a moment, Steve snarled through gritted teeth, “You gonna do something or just sit there, Stark?”

Tony smirked arrogantly and began pumping Steve in earnest. There was no lube, nothing at all, and so while Tony let his hand play down to Steve’s balls and fingers move lightly over Steve’s hole, he didn’t press in, just stroked, just _implied_ , and Steve moaned and spread his legs wider, gripping tight to the back and arm of the couch, grinding his hips down against Tony’s. Abruptly, Tony wanted more, wanted to see what Steve looked like naked and writhing, how beautiful Steve would look, spreading those thighs for Tony.

Not now. Right now, Tony had other things to occupy his attention.

Curling his fingers tight, he let Steve buck into his grip, watched as the other man’s eyes grew distant and hazy, and this was – this was beautiful, everything he’d hoped for and dreamed of. Steve was magnificent and finally, finally was acknowledging their shared attraction.

And the fact that he was grinding down on Tony’s hips was definitely a benefit.

Tony came, soaking his boxers and the wetness staining the sweats he was wearing, and he had come so quickly in part because he was just so shocked this was happening and in part because it was _Steve_ – how could he not? He sped up his strokes on Steve’s cock, his free hand curling around Steve’s waist to dip below the waistband in the back, toying with Steve’s cleft there, and then Steve was shuddering in his grip, mouth working soundlessly as his dick painted Tony’s shirt with come.

Steve slumped forward – and he actually was pretty heavy; Tony squirmed a bit under Steve’s weight – and Tony could feel Steve’s lips moving against his neck. Murmuring something? Tony tilted his head, but he only caught the last word.

“Bucky,” Steve sighed, voice broken.

Tony went cold. For a minute, he didn’t know what to do, how to handle this. Did he have any room to talk? He’d called out the wrong name in bed before when he had been a randy sixteen year old at MIT, and had learned quickly to stick to pet names so he didn’t make that mistake again. But this seemed different than forgetting someone’s name and calling out something similar but still different. No, Bucky was different than Tony and Tony was pretty sure there was no way in hell Steve could mix them up.

Unless, of course, he’d been imagining someone else besides Tony.

Clearing his throat, Tony shoved his shoulder into Steve’s chest. That made Steve sway back, blinking open fogged eyes. Post-coital Steve was apparently sluggish, and Tony felt a sharp ache that he’d never be able to learn more about what Steve was like in private. Tony shoved again, wiggling to show he wanted to get up.

“Well, as fun as this has been, I have work to do. Sex works great as a hangover remedy, though, so good on you, oh Captain my Captain. We’ll pencil it in another time if you ever get pent up that badly again and if I ever crash that hard.”

“Tony?” Steve asked, voice muzzy and confused as he moved to the side.

Standing, Tony stretched. “Yeah, Steve?”

For a moment that stretched like eternity, Steve stared at him, looking hurt and devastated. Tony did his best to keep his expression blank. Steve wasn’t the one who got to play the victim here.

Then Steve closed his eyes and turned his head aside. “You might want to get cleaned up,” Steve said tonelessly. “The others will be awake soon.”

Realizing he was both covered with Steve’s come and had a wet stain at his groin, Tony pulled the tatters of his dignity around him. “Right then. See you around.”

“Yeah,” Steve grunted. 

* * *

 

“I think you broke Steve.”

Tony paused in his motions and then twisted around to stare at the shoes that were in his workshop. “Bruce?”

“Tony.”

Sliding out from under the car, Tony pushed himself up to his elbows and blinked at Bruce. “What did you say?”

“I think you broke Steve,” Bruce repeated, sitting down on a stool and tilting his head at Tony.

“Yeah, that’s what I thought you had said,” Tony grunted, lying back down and sliding back under the car. “Who’s to say he didn’t break _me_?”

“Now, Tony, I didn’t say that at all. Just that Steve’s been moping and snapping for the past two days and no one can figure out what happened beyond the two of you having another encounter. JARVIS wouldn’t tell us any more than that.”

“You’re a fucking traitor, JARVIS,” Tony grumbled under his breath.

“Well, it wasn’t JARVIS, really – Pepper asked us why you were grumpy, and Clint mentioned Steve’s also been grumpy. Pepper directly asked JARVIS, and JARVIS admitted that you and Steve had an ‘altercation’ but wouldn’t explain more. So we can only guess at what happened, but directly confronting Steve only makes him blush and scowl and claim it was his fault. Which, of course, means you did something to provoke him.”

“It doesn’t exactly mean that,” Tony sighed. “Look, I thought – I thought we could work out our differences, but we couldn’t, and that’s it. End of it. I don’t know why Steve’s upset, though.”

Bruce didn’t say anything for a moment, and then Tony could hear him approaching. “Could you just – I don’t know. Speak with him?”

“There’s nothing to speak about, Brucie. I don’t know what you want from us. There are just some people who can’t work together except in a professional environment, and that’s me. So. There you go.” Tony grunted, twisting the wrench.

No sound but the tapping of Bruce’s foot, and then Bruce sighed. “Okay, Tony.”

* * *

 

That should have been the end of it. Tony and Steve rubbed each other the wrong way and when they tried to make it work (read: have sex) it didn’t because Tony figured out Steve wanted someone else (someone dead) so that should have been the end of it. It wasn’t going to get better. They were destined to butt heads.

Except Steve didn’t seem to get that memo. He never rose to Tony’s bait anymore. Hell, he barely told Tony anything beyond battlefield orders and sparring instructions. It was beginning to grate on Tony’s nerves. Not beginning to – it _was_ grating on Tony’s nerves and he was furious. How dare _Steve_ be upset? When _he_ had been the one thinking of someone else?

It took a few weeks, for Tony to both find a time when Steve was alone and to gather up enough courage to confront Steve about it. It was most likely a factor of the very early time (somewhere in the vicinity of five am; Tony wasn’t clear on the specifics) and of the fact that Tony hadn’t slept for a while and so was losing the normal filter he employed to keep himself from messing up too badly with his team.

So when Steve came into the kitchen, looking fresh and pink from a shower, blond hair darkened from water and slicked tight to his head, Tony opened his mouth and snarled out, “You’re a jackass.”

Steve visibly froze in the doorway – Tony had the vague idea that Steve hadn’t noticed him there, sitting in the shadows, nursing a pot of coffee.

(A literal pot; he was holding the coffeepot between his forearms and every so often was lifting it up and pouring it straight into his mouth.)

“Stark,” Steve said disapprovingly.

“Oh, I’ve had my hand around your dick, I think you could at least call me Tony,” Tony growled.

If anything, Steve’s back stiffened even more, and Tony absently wondered if Steve could actually damage himself doing that. “You made it clear that it was a one time thing,” Steve managed through lips that didn’t move and teeth that ground against teeth. “Excuse me if I say I don’t think I have to give any respect for someone who treats sex as – as a _hangover_ remedy.”

“No, see, that’s beside the point right now. You don’t get to make this my fault. Not when I have Bruce hounding my workshop, now, because you’re throwing a hissy fit like a child that’s been denied sweets. You wanted someone you could use the wrong name with, you need a hooker. And I, no matter _what_ you think of me, am _not_ that.”

Steve’s mouth opened, muscles bunched and tight, and Tony was up on his feet, ready and raring to go, when Steve – stopped.

“Wrong name?” Steve asked, furrowing his brow.

With a sneer, Tony spread his arms belligerently. “So, you know, if you want to act the injured party here—”

“No, Tony – what do you mean?” Steve asked, and his hand was gripping Tony’s wrist before Tony could register it. Tony stared at the hand on his wrist, and then glared at Steve.

Slowly, Steve let go of Tony’s wrist and took a step back.

“I get that you want your crush, but you know what, I gave you chances to back out, I know I did. You pushed, and then you pushed more, and I thought we were fine, but you fucking can’t remember who you’re with, maybe you should straighten out your head before you do it again. And you will _not_ be doing it again with _me_ , let’s make that clear.”

“ _Tony_.”

Huh, look at that, stiffening the spine was catching, because Tony could feel all his muscles tense as he turned around and glowered at Steve.

“I was – I don’t think you understand what I meant. When I said. That.”

Steve’s cheeks were red. He was blushing, which was actually a feat, because no matter how dirty Clint’s jokes got, Steve took it all in stride. Which, to be frank, was actually expected since Steve _had_ been the commander of a soldier unit, and soldiers had the dirtiest minds sometimes. They didn’t invent sex jokes and dick jokes recently, after all – only the terminology changed.

So, naturally, all Tony could say in response to that was, “You’re blushing.”

That made Steve blush harder, the rosy color trickling down his throat and curling in his ears.

Tony stared in fascination. “No one will ever believe I managed to make Captain America blush.” That made him pause, even as Steve gaped at him unattractively. “How _did_ I get you to blush?” he asked.

“What – _Tony_!” Steve said, scandalized. “You can’t – you shouldn’t – I’m asking you _not_ to tell everyone.”

“Well that’s stupid. Why wouldn’t I?”

“Because – because I don’t think you heard everything I said. When we – on the couch. I think you missed a few words.”

The reminder had Tony frowning. “I heard Bucky. What more did I need to hear?”

“I – I said I _wish_ I could have told Bucky. He’d never – he’d lost hope of me. Ah. Ever. With someone.”

To be fair, Tony’s brain wasn’t operating under the best of conditions. As it was taking him a while to process the words, his mouth ran automatically. “If you can’t say the word fuck or sex we probably shouldn’t be having sex or fucking,” he said instinctively, and then he fully comprehended what Steve was saying.

“Are you – were you a _virgin_?”

Steve’s cheeks, a rosy blush, turned full cherry-tomato red. “Not _all the way_ ,” he hissed.

Tony stared at Steve a long moment before shaking his head. “No, you’re gonna need to explain that to me. Not all the way? What the hell?”

“I mean – I mean we’ve – I’ve – done things. Ah. With – um. With gals.”

Tony’s brain jumped to _wholly_ inappropriate things, even as he croaked, “So men before me.”

Steve looked uncomfortable and he turned on his heel. “No, you know, I’m not prolonging this – this humiliation anymore—”

Tony snagged Steve’s elbow.

Steve whipped around, looking both hurt and ashamed, but that was all of two seconds because two seconds after Tony had Steve turned around, he flung an arm around Steve’s neck and dragged the man’s mouth down to his.

When Tony finally needed to breathe (seriously, how long could Steve go without breathing, because that was a turn-on in and of itself), he pulled away, gasping unattractively.

“Okay one, are you going to wig out on me again?”

“What?” Steve said, voice dazed and eyes half-lidded.

For a minute, Tony stared at him, before nodding. “And two, do you want to move this somewhere more comfortable, because the couch was pretty uncomfortable and we’re actually damn lucky that no one walked in on us last time.”

Steve’s cheeks, which had only been flushed with arousal, were suddenly tomato red again.

“I’ll take that as a yes,” Tony purred.

* * *

 

This _had_ been characteristic of Tony’s life – a series of spikes of brilliance and brightness, with ugly lows in between. The Avengers moving into the tower didn’t change that, but they smoothed out the spikes some. And when Steve became Tony’s boyfriend, the ugly parts weren’t all that ugly anymore. He was still confrontational in the media because that got the point across, that was Tony’s habits, and he couldn’t change it and didn’t want to change it, not for anyone. But it was Steve – and, slowly, the other Avengers – who made all the parts in between less ugly, more muted. Steve didn’t cure insomnia, didn’t cure the racing in Tony’s head, didn’t cure his antisocial tendencies, but for once, Tony had someone who understood and made allowances, someone who cared even with all the wild behavior.

And that, that made worth it, Clint’s pranks and Thor’s arrogance and Natasha’s danger and even Bruce’s desire for solitude and all.

**Works inspired by this one:**

  * [Here, Beside You](https://archiveofourown.org/works/5945050) by [pensversusswords](https://archiveofourown.org/users/pensversusswords/pseuds/pensversusswords)




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